Theory Of Everything
by Moneysister
Summary: The world refuses to change. Sam refuses to lose hope. Einstein was a pretty wise guy after all, right!


For some people the world changes.

It twists and turns a little, just enough to put them right where they belong.

Right where they need to be in order to make their dreams come true, their lives what they'd dreamed for them to be like.

Sam flicked a burger crumb from the worn, wooden table before him, then he leaned back into the couch and rested his legs on the narrow furniture.

Maybe that was what Einstein's Theory Of Everything really was about.

There are forces that can and will change everything in your favor, if only.. what?

You were born in the right moment? With the right genes? In the right stars?

What was it that decided whether one was predestined to have it all, and condemned the other to struggle through life?

"Sam? You coming?"

Dean emerged from the small bathroom in their small motel in yet another small, haunted city.

Tacoma – the City of Destiny.

Sam snorted. Turns out that said forces obviously had a sense of humor too.

"Sam? You, me, the bar, the beer – remember?"

Rounding the table, Dean went to stand beside his brother. One hand was busy with dangling the Impala's keys, the other motioned towards the door impatiently.

"Ah, Dean, I .. um, I think I'll pass, I don't feel so hot."

Impatience turned into concern within the blink of an eye. Dean squatted down in front of Sam and eyed him closely.

"Think you're getting sick?"

Sam mentally cursed himself for choosing this excuse of all things. Lying to Dean always felt wrong and left him with a stale metal aftertaste. Worrying him on top of that sure was a ingenious move.

"Nah, guess I'm just tired. I'm sorry, I know I promised to come along tonight.. Will you be okay?"

Dean got up again, giving his brother another critical once-over. When he was met with a hesitant but genuine smile, he raised his brows and, smirking meaningfully, nodded in confirmation.

"I'll be fine, Sam. You get some rest – see you tomorrow!"

The older Winchester was almost out of the door, when he took a step back again and turned around to Sam once more.

"Oh and Sam? By rest I mean sleep. Not brooding and beating yourself up over things you can't change."

Before Sam had a chance to defend himself, Dean was outside and the door closed behind him.

All the better. He would've only told yet another lie his brother was so damn good at seeing right through.

Sam replayed their short conversation and ran his hands over his face wearily.

Their lives wrapped into a few short lines. A few old lies. Comfort lies, for both of them.

Dean always knew when Sam was having one of those nights.

Ever since the deal was made, they happened every now and then. In the beginning, Dean tried to talk Sam into going out, into getting piss drunk and just forgetting. Sam knew his brother didn't want him to stare into the abyss too long. Probably knew all too well what it looked like when it started staring back at some time.

Nevertheless, Sam always pretended he was just tired and after a while Dean stopped trying.

Sam knew Dean wouldn't be fine on his own on those nights.

Oh, he'd get wasted alright. Just not the way his cocky, light-hearted demeanour implied.

If Sam was staring into the abyss every now and then, Dean was plunging right into it, knowing what he was putting his little brother through. Knowing what was waiting for himself at the bottom.

Still, Dean's smirks before leaving for the bar on those nights never lost their spark. His eyes did.

Sam buried himself a little deeper into the soft material of the sofa and sighed.

If some people had the world changing to their favor, there was bound to be collateral damage. He figured it was the same as with the weather. If people were able to change it according to their will, there'd always be those happy with the result, and those needing the exact opposite. Sunshine and rain. Happiness and sorrow.

Sam only wished that for once, they'd be on the right side of that equation.

If it really was a matter of genes though, they were screwed.

But if having that damned theory working for you depended on something else – then who knew?

Who actually fucking knew?

Taking a deep breath, Sam unfolded himself from his comfortable position and got up to get his jacket.

This had been going on for too long already. They had 5 months left. He was not going to waste a minute more when he could spend it with his brother instead.

Entering the bar only half an hour after Dean had left their motel room, Sam's eyes immediately found his brother's form in one of the booths. Hunched over a table with what looked like several shot glasses accompanying his beer.

Sam couldn't help the small smile that formed on his lips while slowly walking over to Dean. Big brother sure was determined when he had set his mind on something, be it only to get blitzed as fast as possible.

"I see you're taking it slow tonight."

Looking up from his hands around the bottle, Dean's eyes widened at the sight of his brother.

"Sam? You feeling better?"

Sam sat down on the bench opposite of Dean.

"No. You really fine?"

Dean let go of the bottle and laid his hands flat out on the table, thrumming his fingers on it one after another in rapid succession, making it sound like some kind of bar table piano gamut.

After one repetition, his hands stilled and he looked at Sam with a small, genuine smile.

"Nope."

Smirking, Sam nodded and motioned for the waitress to get them another round of what Dean's just had.

If _it_'d happen tonight, he'd be too wasted to even distinguish that certain jolt from the alcohol induced ones.

Either way, something changed tonight. Had to be worth something.


End file.
